


1974: Brian

by LydianNode



Series: More Full of Weeping [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Major Illness, Mentions of major surgery, Suicidal Thoughts, Tears, canon/real life compliant so the ending is NOT tragic, tw: suicidal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: 1974: Freddie helps Brian come to terms with the unthinkable.(This is not in the same universe as "I Shall Be Healed," so the storylines do not match up.)TRIGGER WARNING: Deals with suicidal ideation, although the act does not take place. If this might trigger you, please close this story without reading.





	1974: Brian

Freddie volunteers for the late-night vigil.

It's ten at night when he takes over from a visibly shaken John. Roger is scheduled to come at dawn. They don't want to risk being at their flat when Brian wakes up, can't bear the thought of Brian opening his eyes in an empty hospital room and thinking that he's been deserted. So Freddie sits in the bedside chair with Brian's left hand clasped in both of his own. He tries not to look at the other hand, the one that might not be there tomorrow night. 

The thought makes bile rise at the back of his throat. Just two days ago, Brian had stood in the spotlight, holding an enthralled crowd spellbound as he let his guitar sing to them. Brian had fucking OWNED the stage that night, the crowd shouting his name as he spun otherworldly melodies through his strings. Now he's in hospital in London, sick and weak and terrified, about to lose his right arm.

Freddie shakes his head. No. There's a chance, after all, even the most pessimistic doctor had said so. Not a good chance, but a chance. They just weren't meant to get their hopes up. And they'd had to tell Brian the awful truth.

If Freddie lives to be a hundred, he'll never forget Brian's anguished scream.

"I'm sorry, love," Freddie whispers over Brian's long fingers, just as he had earlier in the day as Brian thrashed and cried. "I'm so sorry."

Brian stirs, fingers tightening around Freddie's. He blinks his bleary eyes a few times as if trying to focus. Freddie forces a smile as Brian's dry lips struggle to form words. "...time's it?"

"Just gone half ten."

"At...night?"

It is indeed night, and a dark one at that, but Freddie soldiers on as cheerfully as he can manage. "Visiting hours are suspended for us, darling - we're royalty, after all."

"Mmm." Brian turns his face toward Freddie. His cheeks are a sickly, pale yellow and his eyes are dull. "Can I have water?"

"Until midnight." Surgery is at eight tomorrow morning, so Brian's not allowed anything to eat or drink after midnight. He picks up the glass from the nightstand and sets the straw between Brian's lips. "Just a bit at a time. Won't do you any good if it comes back up."

After a couple of sips Brian lets his mouth go slack. "Where's Deacy? I thought he was here a few minutes ago."

Ah. This is going to be a little sticky. Freddie busies himself with putting the glass back on the side table. "He went to...see someone." When Brian raises a disbelieving eyebrow, Freddie continues. "Okay. Veronica is taking him to church."

They don't think of John as being particularly religious - none of them is, to be honest. He's been worried, of course, and tonight he's been unusually fretful. John has always been a man who has to cover all contingencies, so it's not that much of a surprise that he'd seek the advice of a priest. 

"Huh," Brian grunts. "I thought he might want to do that."

A faint alarm bell goes off in the back of Freddie's head. "Why?"

Brian's gaze drops and he takes too long to answer. "I, uh, must need a miracle."

He's clearly dodging the question, but Freddie decides not to push further. "Maybe. Mostly I think Deacy just likes to start fires." 

Brian's chuckle turns into a sob. He pulls his hand away from Freddie's and puts it over his own eyes as tears begin to fall. 

"Oh, Brian, darling..." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Brian sniffs, then clears his throat. "I thought I was all done with that, I'm sorry."

"God, no, don't be sorry!" Freddie pushes some hair away from Brian's forehead. It's too warm, too sticky. He picks up one of the flannels on the side table and pours a little water over it. "Here, this will make you feel better," he murmurs as he places the damp cloth over Brian's overheated brow. He helps Brian sit up a little and turns the pillow over to the cooler side.

"Thanks." Brian lies back again, gazing into the middle distance, obviously lost in thought. "Did you ever make out a will, Freddie?"

That's literally the last thing on his mind. "I...I don't think so, no."

"I did. My parents insisted, once we started touring. Miami drew it up for me."

Somewhere in his memory, Freddie can recall Miami bringing the subject up with the rest of them. Freddie and Roger had scoffed, but John had gone pale and by afternoon he had presented a document of his own, in triplicate.

Typical, really.

"You get my records and the stereo, Fred. And my books. I thought you'd like them."

The words pierce straight through to the heart. "Brian..."

Brian shakes his head, a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "All my Hendrix bootlegs, too. Roger's gonna be pissed, but I want you to have them. He gets the camera stuff and telescopes, all that gear. The instruments and amps are for John." His next breath is more like a whimper. "Including my guitar. Make sure of that, would you? Make sure he plays it?"

The thought of Brian willing away his beloved Red Special sends cold sparks up and down Freddie's spine. "Darling..."

Brian raises his good hand and places a finger over Freddie's lips. "Cash in hand goes to my parents, future royalties split four ways between them and the three of you. Is that fair, do you think? I want to be fair."

Half-choking on the tears he's frantically holding back, Freddie nods. He presses his lips to Brian's fingertip and clutches his hand. Freddie's voice comes out as a reedy croak. "It's perfect, of course it is, but why bring it up tonight? You're not actually going to die."

The doctors had said that the hepatitis was curable with rest and medication, and the operation to clean the wound - even if they had to amputate - would be serious but not life-threatening. 

Brian sets his mouth tightly and just watches him in silence, which makes Freddie nervous. He starts to prattle again. "I know anaesthesia can be scary, Brian, but statistically--"

"Freddie."

Freddie drops Brian's hand and brings his own up to cover his mouth. He stares at Brian, at the face he knows and loves so well, and looks deeply into the pain-ravaged eyes. 

Oh, God. No. "No. I won't let you, WE won't let you."

"It's not your decision to make."

Freddie jumps out of the chair and starts pacing the room. "We'll...we'll have you committed. As a danger to yourself." It's a long shot, but he hopes it will work.

It doesn't. "Fred. Don't be ridiculous."

"Then don't be so fucking CALM about it!" He hears himself yelling at the sick man and immediately he feels nauseous. Leaning over the bed, bracing his elbows on the side rails as he tugs at his hair, he takes a deep breath and tries again. "I can't imagine what you're going through, darling, but to just give up like this...it's not right. You can't really want to leave us."

"I don't." Brian's voice shatters, his eyes filling with tears that he doesn't bother to hide. "Of course I don't WANT to die. But given the choice between living without ever playing again and simply going to sleep...it's not even a choice. I'm not strong enough to watch you hire a new guitarist and make recordings, knowing I'll never play another note. I couldn't endure it."

Freddie swipes away some of Brian's tears with his thumbs. "Brian, you're the strongest man I've ever known. You can write for us, you can sing for us, it's not the end of everything. I promise you. I promise."

"Would you want to go on if something happened and you lost voice forever? Would YOU stay in the band and watch someone else take over the lead singing whilst you sat there, mute?" Brian swallows hard and meets Freddie's eyes.

"No," Freddie whispers after a long pause, his hand stilling on Brian's wet cheek. "I don't know if I could." 

"That's what Deacy said, too," Brian says softly. "Yeah. I talked to him about this earlier, when he was 'on duty.' I asked him to take medical power of attorney, and to sign an order not to resuscitate." He sighs and shakes his head. "That's probably why he went to church, to absolve himself of the sin. I hate that I did this to him, but I need someone who'll keep a level head, who won't get emotional and suddenly decide to countermand my wishes."

"Do you think he doesn't love you as much as Roger and I do?" Freddie asks, indignant on John's behalf.

"That's not it at all." Brian reaches out for Freddie, clasping him on the shoulder. "I just think he loves me enough to let me go, if need be. It's a different kind of love to what you and Roger have. That's all."

They regard one another for a while as Freddie tries to process what he's just learned. "Does Roger know anything about this?"

"No. And he won't. I gave Deacy very specific instructions, including not letting YOU tell Roger, either. He's not as...resilient as the rest of us. I'd rather he think that I simply took a turn for the worse and didn't make it."

Rolling his eyes, Freddie speaks sharply. "Roger's not fucking stupid, Brian. He'll want information. It's one thing to ask Deacy and me to lie to him, but doctors won't. Plus your fucking death certificate won't, and you can't imagine that he won't insist on reading it."

"You sound exactly like Deacy," Brian responds wearily. "Just with more 'fuckings' thrown in."

"We're not wrong, though. He needs to be told the truth." Freddie takes in a sharp breath. "He deserves that, don't you think?"

Brian's eyes mist over. "I know he does. Just...not until after I'm gone. Please."

Sagging under the weight of exhaustion and grief, Freddie sits down again and rests his head on Brian's chest. His pulse is quick but strong; Freddie can't imagine a heart like that ever, ever stopping. "How will you...?" He has to stop lest he break down completely.

Brian shifts a little and puts his hand gently on the back of Freddie's neck. "After they...take the arm, there'll be what they call 'phantom pain.' I'll 'feel' pain in my fingers, my hand, my wrist, but they won't be there. The doctors will prescribe pain pills, and sleeping pills. I'll just take them all at once, and that'll be...the end." He strokes Freddie's hair. "I promise to do it here, not at home. I wouldn't put you through that. That's why I need the order not to resuscitate."

Freddie drags himself upright and compels himself to look Brian in the eyes. He sees pain there, unimaginable pain, and sorrow, and regret. And so much love. With a trembling hand Freddie takes the flannel from Brian's forehead, dips it in fresh water, and puts it back. "My parents will be so pissed," Brian murmurs. "Well, my mum will. My dad will understand."

"They'll be devastated." Freddie plays with some of the tangled dark curls next to Brian's ear. "They'll lose their only child."

Brian's smile is fond and a little shy. "I'm not an only child anymore. Now I have three brothers."

Feeling as if his heart might explode at any moment, Freddie leans over and kisses Brian on the temple, leaving behind a little splash of tears. "You choose the weirdest moments to be nice to people," he mock-complains. "But thank you, darling. That means the world to me."

"Good, because I'm about to ask you a favour." Brian casts a glance at his right hand. A shudder runs through him, then he asks, "Can you get my ring off?"

Freddie carefully pulls at the gold band. "Let me know if it hurts you," he says gently, but Brian just shakes his head. Freddie twists the ring, working it past the swollen knuckle of Brian's pinky. He wants to kiss that poor hand, wishes he could bathe it in his tears, anything to cleanse the horrible infection away. Once the ring is off, he holds it up for Brian to see.

"Hang on to it for me." Brian's voice is dark with fatigue. "If they amp...if the surgery doesn't go well, please give it to my Dad. It was his father's."

"Of course, darling. But WHEN it goes well," Freddie says, desperately needing to be optimistic, "and you're getting ready to wake up, I'll slip it on your right hand and I'll make sure it's the first thing you see." Freddie slides the ring onto his own pinky and waves his hand in front of Brian's face. "You understand that if I can't get this back off, you'll have to marry me."

That makes Brian laugh, the music of it warming Freddie's soul. "Come here, you lunatic," he hiccups as he captures Freddie's hand in his and tugs him closer. They embrace, mindful of Brian's injured arm, then Freddie helps him lie down again.

He pulls the covers up to Brian's chest and rests one hand there, over the birdlike bones of his sternum, and folds his other hand around Brian's long fingers. When Brian nestles into the pillows and his eyelids start to flutter, Freddie whispers, "I'm not going anywhere, darling. I've got your hand. I've got you."

At last Brian relaxes, a small, peaceful smile on his lips. Freddie reflects on him, this obsessive, relentless, brilliant man, his brother, his mainstay. He can't imagine life without him. Won't imagine it. He thinks about Roger, who is doubtless twisting over and over in his bed without sleeping, sick with fear and uncertainty. He thinks about John, fervently lighting candles to whatever saints might intercede on behalf of guitarists stricken with both hepatitis and gangrene.

A fragment of a prayer crosses Freddie's mind and he whispers it softly. "Bestow on him riches and good things; bestow health of body, sturdiness of body, and resistance of body; bestow on him possessions giving abundant ease, future noble offspring, and a lengthy life." He truly wishes all these things for Brian, truly believes they are possible. 

Tomorrow morning they'll gather to offer whatever comfort they may. And in the afternoon, when Brian is safe and whole, Freddie will put the ring on his finger again and wait for him to awaken. To return to them.

In the meantime, he settles down for the late-night vigil.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have no idea about the significance of the ring Brian always had on his right pinky. If YOU do, please let me know.
> 
> I have a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode - come talk to me!


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